Hold Or Fold
by Lingering Lilies
Summary: '"I never did know when to hold or fold," Santana sighed. Brittany, however, disagreed.' Inspired by Naya's Complex photoshoot, god help us all.


A/N: So if you'd told me yesterday that I'd wake up today and be inspired to write a Brittana Mafia AU one-shot, I would have been very confused. But due to the ridiculously hot Complex Magazine photoshoot Naya has graced the world with, here I am, posting for your enjoyment.

Unbetad, fluffy, and hopefully sexy.

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**Hold Or Fold**

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Santana plodded up the steps to the entrance of her building. She was positively wilting in her white suit. After all these years, she still hadn't gotten used to the heat and humidity of her city.

The thing is, it was starting to feel less and less like her city ever since the Fabrays had made an alliance with the Cruzes.

Santana didn't even glance at the doorman as she entered the lobby, basking in the air conditioning that she had been looking forward to since she left this afternoon. She knew the Fabrays were cheap, but not air conditioning the room where they played poker was inhumane. Unfortunately Rosario didn't think so, and had used it as a bargaining chip in convincing Santana to shed pieces of her suit in exchange for giving her a financial break when she started losing.

See, Santana _hated_ losing. But more than anything, she hated paying out at the end of the night and seeing that dirty, smug look on Rosario's face. That, combined with the heat of the room and the promise of not having to tell Brittany she'd lost the down payment for their place in the Hamptons, had convinced Santana to give up a little bit of her pride and strip down to her underwear while Rosario and her crew looked on.

The memory of their eyes on her skin kept her jacket firmly on as she had journeyed back to Manhattan from Jersey. Her anger and humiliation were making her burn in a way unrelated to the heat. She stalked into the elevator and crossed her arms, leaning back against the mirrored walls with a scowl on her face as she punched in the code for the penthouse.

When the door slid open, Santana was greeted by the tinkling of piano keys and the clinking of glasses in the parlor, followed soon by Brittany's laugh and the lighthearted, tipsy voices of her friends. Normally Santana would have loved to come home to one of Brittany's cocktail hours, but she was in no mood for it tonight. She contemplated going straight to the bedroom, anticipating the relief of the rainfall shower in their porcelain and gold bathroom, but she knew Brittany would chastise her for being rude if she didn't make an appearance.

Santana took a deep breath, hovering behind the wall that ensconced their parlor from the living room. Santana didn't know why that wall was there to begin with. All it did was break up their view of the park, which had been the selling point for this place to begin with. That and the squeal of delight Brittany had let out when she saw it. All Brittany had to do was grab Santana's hand and whisper, "Please, baby?" before Santana gave the realtor a nod and said they'd be making an offer before the day was through. Santana didn't feel the need to point out that it was technically Brittany's money, not hers. But since they were married and Brittany had refused a prenup, Santana supposed it was her money too.

As soon as Santana rounded the corner and Brittany saw her, Brittany's smile fell. She knew right away Santana had lost.

"Did Rosario play dirty again tonight?" Brittany asked, lowering her voice.

Santana didn't respond, only glanced at Brittany's friends who seemed jolted out of their gossip by Santana's morose appearance.

"Rosario always plays dirty," Santana said, trying to play it cool and indicating she didn't want to discuss details in front of their guests. But she was still burning.

Brittany cooed and rose from her seat, the glitter of her gown on her graceful, lithe body reminding Santana that this was all worth it. The games, the losses, the two-faced "family" members. Brittany couldn't help who her family was, nor could Santana picture them having any other lifestyle at this point.

When Brittany and Santana had met in a casino one night, Santana had had no idea who Brittany was, or how good she was at playing cards. All she saw was a cute blonde in a sundress drinking champagne and playing rummy. Santana, then a small-time gambler by night and stock broker by day, thought she could take her. So she made a small wager, at which Brittany had tilted her head, giggled, and accepted. When Santana had lost in the blink of an eye, she had been so intrigued and mystified, she'd asked for another round. Brittany just giggled again, not bothering to adjust the wager, and indicated to the casino worker to deal again.

Santana lost what she thought was a lot of money that night, but she got Brittany's number, and a few weeks later, Brittany's heart.

When Santana had proposed to Brittany a year later, Brittany cupped her face, staring into the pit of her, saying that she would say yes in a heartbeat as long as her father consented. When Santana promised to meet him for the first time immediately, she'd had no idea what she was getting into.

Mr. Pierce was an imposing man. Everything from the cigar in his bejeweled hand to the starch of his tailored suit reeked money and authority. Santana, who was afraid of no man, found herself faltering for a second. But remembering who she was and how much she loved Brittany, she steeled herself and asked for Brittany's hand in marriage, promising to love, cherish, and protect her for as long as she lived.

Mr. Pierce had sat in his chair, one hand on his paunch while the other brought his cigar to his lips as he studied Santana. Santana had worn a nice suit and her best jewelry, but she knew it paled in comparison to anything Mr. Pierce owned. She hoped her bravery would distract from whatever shabbiness he saw in her.

After a moment, Mr. Pierce let out a little puff of smoke and said in a gruff, fatigued voice, "You play cards?"

Santana nodded, more nervous since he hadn't responded to her heartfelt request.

Mr. Pierce took another puff of his cigar. "Cards are no good," he said, shaking his head. "Cards lead to everything Brittany's dear mother, may she rest in peace, despised."

Santana swallowed. She knew Brittany had lost her mother young, but she had no idea how to respond to Mr. Pierce's statement.

"Brittany speaks very fondly of her mother," she said, trying to be polite.

Mr. Pierce nodded pensively.

"Brittany's got an eye for them cards, though," he said, frowning. "She wins almost every time. It's a shame she has no clue how to manage her money, otherwise..." He trailed off, regret flickering over his face. After a moment of tense silence, he continued. "Otherwise I'd have no doubts about leaving my legacy with her."

Santana felt heavy with Mr. Pierce's worry. She knew what he was talking about; Brittany was bright and social and kind and knew how to play cards, but when it came to business matters, she had no interest, and therefore no skill in managing things.

"I can manage money," Santana said, advocating for Mr. Pierce to consent to their marriage. "I'm good at it."

Mr. Pierce studied Santana's face, lips concentrating on his cigar.

"You know, I always hoped my daughter would marry well. Granted, I imagined she'd marry a nice, clean-cut Harvard man or maybe even a Princeton man, but it seems that is not how the cards have been dealt, pardon the pun," he said in one raspy breath. He took another puff of his cigar, studying the band on it before saying, "My Brittany is a sweet girl. She loves a lot of things, which at first was eh, a bit of an... _adjustment_ for me, you know what I'm saying? But I get it. She's just like her mother. Only instead of rescuing kittens and puppies and the like, she loves _people_, you know? She's got a real heart."

Santana gave a nervous nod, hoping Mr. Pierce's meandering soliloquy meant he was taking her request into consideration. "She does have a big heart, sir," Santana said.

Mr. Pierce gave a nod of agreement. "You'll take good care of her, no?"

"Of course. If anyone ever threatened her, I'd take them out in a heartbeat."

Mr. Pierce raised his his eyebrows and tilted his head. "I hope that never comes to fruition."

Santana chilled, realizing it was a distinct possibility. But now that she had Brittany's heart, she couldn't walk away. She'd sleep with a gun under her pillow every night if that's what it took to keep Brittany close.

Mr. Pierce took a deep breath and let it out before getting up and walking over to his liquor cabinet, pouring two glasses of scotch and handing one to Santana. She held it up apprehensively as he clinked his glass to hers and said, "You're gonna need a nicer suit for the wedding."

Overjoyed, Santana murmured, "Yes, sir," and took a sip.

When she and Brittany said their vows a few months later, Mr. Pierce had given Santana the heartiest handshake of her life and officially welcomed her to the Family.

For the last five years, she and Brittany had lived in absolute bliss. After buying the penthouse, Brittany started hosting her famous parties, sometimes attracting celebrities and millionaires into the midst of their revelling. She had a pianist and caterer on their household staff of six, booked for every Friday and Saturday night in case she felt like hosting, and she'd book them for cocktail hours and dinner parties during the week often as well. It felt like a never-ending wedding reception, and every night when Santana came home, the first thing she did was kiss her wife and thank whatever fates had brought her into her life.

So even though she was in a foul mood tonight, Santana slipped her arm around Brittany's waist when Brittany drew near and planted a soft kiss on her lips.

As though she could taste the extent of Santana's anger and frustration, Brittany turned to her friends and said, "I'm afraid my wife and I have business matters to discuss. You don't mind if we reschedule for Tuesday, do you?"

The girls rose obediently, flicking their jeweled hands in sympathetic gestures of dismissal, claiming they didn't mind one bit and would be happy to join Brittany again on Tuesday. Santana was grateful for their swift exits, and once the elevator doors closed behind them, let out a sigh as she wrapped her arms tighter around Brittany.

"I didn't lose the money for the summer house," she said, wanting to reassure Brittany she was still a good business partner. "But it was a tough loss."

"I'm sorry, baby," Brittany cooed. "I know you hate playing Rosario. She's a greedy meanie."

Santana nodded and held Brittany tighter. "I knew I should have taken my good luck charm with me," she mumbled, referring to Brittany herself.

"You can always take me, sweetheart," Brittany assured her. "I only invited the girls over because you said you'd be fine going alone."

Santana nodded, feeling foolish for thinking she could win without Brittany. Brittany had taught her how to play with high stakes, after all, and sometimes when she wasn't sure whether to hold or fold when Brittany wasn't with her, she imagined Brittany's fingers on her knee, pressing their secret code into her skin with her lacquered nail as she learned how to play the game. She still needed that code now, apparently. Thinking she had learned enough was what had cost her the game and her pride as she'd stripped off her suit.

"She made me strip in front of all her lackeys," Santana said, feeling another wave of embarrassment as she told Brittany. She knew Brittany wouldn't be upset by the situation, only absorb some of Santana's humiliation.

"Oh, sweetie," Brittany cooed. "Take me with you next time. She wouldn't have asked if I'd been there."

Santana took a deep breath, relieved to be in Brittany's arms.

"I never did know when to hold or fold," Santana sighed.

"That's not true," Brittany argued.

"No, it is," Santana grumbled. "I'm good at doing what you tell me, but I don't have the instincts you do."

Brittany pulled back and shook her head. "Not true." Then her smile turned flirtatious and Santana was confused.

"I'll prove it," Brittany said, handing Santana her champagne glass. "Hold," she said with a smug smile. "And sip, if you'd like."

Santana took a sip, feeling the bubbles sparkle on her tongue as Brittany pulled away and reached behind her neck, unclasping her necklace and delicately laying it on the piano. She followed with her earrings, never taking her gaze off Santana as she put the backs on them and laid them beside the other jewels. Then, with a slow saunter, she moved toward the bedroom, glancing behind her with a _come-hither_ look. Santana followed, feeling her body unwind from Brittany's calming presence.

When she entered the bedroom, Brittany was sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed, taking off her heels. She looked up at Santana through her lashes, making Santana run hot for another reason. Then Brittany walked to her, feet soft on the carpet, and took the glass out of her hand, setting it on the bedside table. Then she took off Santana's jacket, smoothing her shoulders and laying a kiss on the side of Santana's neck. "You _do_ know when to hold or fold," she mumbled.

Brittany's hands unbuttoned Santana's shirt and draped it over the bench behind her. Knowing where Brittany was going with this, Santana started working her hands over her wife, feeling the scrape of the sparkles on Brittany's dress in her palms. After Brittany had unzipped the side and shimmied out, Santana gripped her waist and pulled her close, kissing her hard, wanting to relieve all her frustration in their bed. It was a thing they did after Santana gambled, no matter if she won or lost. Either they celebrated with exquisite, happy, rolling-in-hundred-dollar-bills sex, or they worked up a sweat letting out all Santana's tension and anger with athletic, claiming sex. Santana was never rough unless Brittany asked her to be, but she was certain she would have resorted to violence against Rosario at some point if she hadn't had Brittany's assistance.

This time, though, Brittany caught her hands and pushed them away from her body, holding them out to the side. "Easy, boss," she said. "I haven't even stated my wager."

Already aroused and eager, Santana leaned forward so their foreheads were touching. "I wager you'll be screaming my name at least three times in the next hour," she murmured.

Brittany let out a breathy giggle and said, "Fair wager. But I'll raise you."

Santana raised her eyebrows, adoring Brittany's sexy banter.

"I bet by the end of the night, you'll agree that you know when to hold or fold."

"Deal," Santana said, knowing she would win regardless.

"You didn't even take a second to think," Brittany said, teasing.

"Because I know I'll win," Santana smirked.

Brittany held her cunning smile for a moment before she turned suddenly, gripping Santana by the elbows, and shoved her onto the enormous, pillowy bed. "We'll see about that," she said, climbing on top of Santana and straddling her.

Spurred on by Brittany's forcefulness, Santana gripped Brittany's lace-clad behind and drew her down, grinding up into her. But Brittany resisted, hovering over Santana. "Let me undress you, baby," Brittany said, using her breathiest, most doll-like voice. "We gotta start with an even hand."

Santana relaxed and let Brittany remove her belt, pants, socks, shoes, rings, bra and panties, leaving her in just her necklace and earrings. Santana thought about mentioning that this wasn't technically an even hand since Brittany was still in her lingerie, but she loved the tease of seeing Brittany's nipples through the lace so much, she didn't complain.

And then, holding Santana's hands forcefully down into the mattress at Santana's sides, Brittany started teasing with her mouth as well. She hovered over her, letting her warm breath inspire goosebumps along Santana's abdomen, ghosting over the sweet spots on her neck and jaw. Brittany breathed hot and humid onto her skin, making Santana arch up into her, needing friction anywhere she could get it.

"Please, baby," Santana whispered. "I need you."

Brittany let out a low giggle and drew her tongue up Santana's neck before nibbling her ear. Santana squirmed, trying to get her hands free so she could flip Brittany onto her back, tear off her panties, and have her way with her. But Brittany's grasp was firm and her hips were commanding as she pressed Santana into the mattress, trapping her.

Feeling Santana struggle, Brittany licked the crest of Santana's ear before whispering, "Hold or fold?"

Santana frowned, increasingly frustrated with Brittany's teasing. "What? No, I want you to _touch_ me," she whined.

"I know," Brittany hummed. "All you have to do is decide whether to _hold_... or fold."

Brittany drew back to give Santana a sultry look and Santana understood what Brittany was playing at. So though it pained her to do so, she grumbled, "Fold."

Brittany didn't release her hands right away, instead holding her there as she grinned. Then she whispered, "Good girl," and released her, immediately sliding down Santana's torso until her head was snug between Santana's legs, licking and sucking and drawing Santana into a panting, cursing frenzy.

After they'd both come several times, they lay sweaty and exhausted in each other's arms, calm and content as could be. When Brittany burrowed into Santana's side, making an adorable noise of content, Santana mumbled, "You win."

At that Brittany's head jerked up, meeting Santana's sparkling eyes with a smile.

"I _do_ know when to hold or fold. At least when it really matters," Santana said. And with that, she squeezed Brittany tighter to her. "Right now, and for the rest of my life, I want to hold."

Brittany smiled, sliding up Santana's body to lay a sleepy kiss on her lips. "Told you," she murmured. "And same."


End file.
